Tales from the Sparrow School
by Notorious JMG
Summary: A "Bright Side" AU adventure. Takes place six years after "Chuck vs. the Ring of Fire." The CIA makes a very interesting job offer to Chuck and Sarah - run the CIA's seduction and sex school. Lots of Charah, very little angst; on the mature side of "T".
1. Another Valentine

_**Tales from the Sparrow School**_

**Another Valentine**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Sarah Walker Bartowski – Yvonne Strahovski  
CIA Director Sam Tyler – John Simm

* * *

**2:30 PM, Pacific Standard Time  
Thursday, February 14****th****, 2019  
4320 St. Clair Avenue, Studio City, CA**

All was quiet on the western front.

And that was the way Chuck Bartowski liked it.

The house was silent, with the kids off at school for the day, and Sarah at her guest lecturing gig at USC. Chuck didn't, himself, have a job, per se – sure, he was the CEO of Studio City Consulting Services (a snappy name for an organization that had, in its time, carried out some very disturbing tasks for the US government), and he was the founder and president of Nerd Cave Video Games – but neither of those positions required him to be in an office. Ever, really. John Casey ran the day to day at SCCS, and Morgan Grimes had long since taken the reins at Nerd Cave.

Occasionally, Chuck would humor himself by driving over to Empire Plaza and peeking into the Buy More, but these days, it was more sad than anything else to see Lester still working there. Chuck truly endeavored to not think about that part of his life too much.

Today, Chuck found himself in the backyard, stretched out on a chaise lounge, letting the Southern California sun bake his skin. That was one of the true advantages to living in Los Angeles – you could do just this very thing on Valentine's Day, and be comfortable.

The only sounds disturbing Chuck's peace were the occasional car driving past, the distant jets landing at Bob Hope Airport, and the gurgle of the pool filter. Every so often, his hand would reach out for the Corona on the table beside him, lift it to his mouth, and then return it to the table.

There was a time when Chuck wouldn't have been able to just lay anywhere in silence. He had had a five year period of his life filled with trauma after trauma, and if he wasn't concentrating on something, the images of people who had died for him, people whose deaths he had himself been responsible for, would run through his head with more regularity and alacrity than the images of an Intersect flash.

But that had all ended nearly six years ago. Intensive therapy and the ubiquitous presence of his loving wife – the inimitable Sarah Walker – had helped him get through it, and now he was a perfectly well-adjusted thirty-seven year old Angeleno.

Well, as well-adjusted as one could be when one 1) was married to a spy, 2) had a super-computer in one's head, and 3) was worth approximately 270 million dollars. It was that third one that still occasionally boggled Chuck's mind. Who knew that doing dirty deeds somewhat more than dirt cheap for the government could be so stinking profitable?

He had never let it go to his head, though. Okay, yeah, he had bought that Aston-Martin DB7 a couple years back. And yes, Sarah still drove her Porsche 911. But the family car was a ten year-old Dodge Magnum station wagon. They lived in a five-bedroom house in Studio City. Chuck downright refused to rub elbows with the beautiful people unless 1) they had in some way been directly connected to his very first video game – _Mindnode_ – and the movie and TV show that had been spawned by it, or 2) he and Sarah were sent on a mission by the CIA – something which still happened, every so often.

Sure, there was a rather long list of Hollywood types with whom Chuck was friends – not the least of which was George Clooney – but still. All he had ever wanted to do was fix computers and play video games…

Chuck's solitude was disturbed by the distinct sound of the garage door going up. He sat up on his chaise lounge, reaching out to grab his beer and finish off the last swig. The muffled sound of an air-cooled Porsche 3.6L turbo engine reached Chuck's ears, and then fell silent.

By the time Sarah came walking out the door into the backyard, Chuck had turned around to face the direction she was coming from. "Well, good afternoon, Professor," he said, a cheeky smile on his face.

Sarah smiled back at him. "You know, when I was growing up in Boston, you didn't spend much time outside in February if you could help it."

Chuck stood as she reached his chaise lounge. He reached a hand behind her back and gently drew her to him, kissing her briefly. "Well thank God we don't live in Boston, then," he replied.

"I concur," Sarah sighed, kissing Chuck again.

She pulled back and looked directly at Chuck, amusement sparkling behind her sapphire eyes. "So… what does this year entail?"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Beg pardon?"

"Come on, Chuck," Sarah said. "There hasn't been a year yet when you've disappointed me…"

"Huh," Chuck replied, narrowing his eyes. "Are you referring to the fact that it's Valentine's Day?"

"Perhaps…"

"Right," Chuck said. "Well, I figured, maybe we could take the kids out to dinner or something… you know, something low key – oh, shit!"

Chuck ducked to avoid the shoe that was playfully tossed at him. "What, I'm George Bush now?" he asked, standing back up. "You didn't think I was SERIOUS, did you?"

Sarah fixed him with a playful look, her other shoe in hand. "You've pulled some pretty interesting stunts in your life, mister," she replied. "Like the time you came back from a stakeout with Carina and you had lipstick on your –"

"Oh, for God's sake," Chuck interrupted, rolling his eyes. "That was seven years ago, and it wasn't my fault."

Sarah grinned. "I know that. But it's SUCH a handy reminder to get you to do something really nice for me."

"Well, I don't know what to tell you," Chuck replied with a shrug, "other than it backfired on you this year. See, I was ACTUALLY gonna give you something REALLY nice, which I have in my office right now, and then I was going to take you out to dinner at the Water Grill… but I think, now, we'll just go to Denny's or something."

"You twerp!" Sarah shrieked, jumping toward Chuck and beginning to tickle him.

Chuck jumped backwards in shock, and lost his balance. As he began to fall into the pool, he reached out for something to grab onto –

And something just happened to be his wife's arm. Chuck fell backwards into the pool, and Sarah went ass-over-teakettle into the pool right next to him.

Sarah's head shot up and out of the pool. "F-F-F-FUCK!" she half chattered, half shouted. "This thing is FREEZING!"

Chuck hadn't waited long enough in the pool to make that assessment. The moment he had hit the ice cold water, he had rocketed back out onto the deck. "Come on," he said to Sarah, reaching out a hand. "Let's get you out of – AHHH!"

Freezing or not, Sarah's mischievous streak was running wild. As she grabbed Chuck's hand, she gave it a good yank, pulling him right back into the pool. He surfaced a second later, sputtering, a baleful look on his face. "You did that on purpose," he growled.

Sarah shrugged, an innocent look on her face. "Who, me?"

This time, the two both climbed out of the pool together, resisting the urge for any further shenanigans. As soon as they were in the house, the both began shedding soaked clothing, dropping it in the laundry room before passing into the house itself.

By the time they reached Chuck's office, both were clad in nothing but towels, and both had dried off to an extent. "So…" Sarah said. "What was it that you have for me for Valentine's Day?"

"A couple of things," Chuck replied, turning to the closet. Pulling it open, he reached inside and unlocked his gun safe. He withdrew a box, and then turned back to Sarah.

"First of all…" He opened the box, and withdrew a sterling silver charm bracelet. "I've wanted you to have this for years, but Ellie couldn't find it anywhere. It was just recently, when she and Awesome moved down to Palos Verdes, that she found it."

As he fastened the bracelet around Sarah's left wrist, she looked down at it curiously, and then back up at Chuck. "It's for good luck," he continued. "My dad gave it to my mom when Ellie was born… and I wanted you to have it."

Surprise lit up Sarah's eyes, and her right hand came up to her mouth. "Oh, wow," she whispered. "This is… wow."

Chuck grinned. "I take it you like it?"

Sarah just nodded. "All these years," she said softly, "and you still manage to amaze me."

"Likewise," Chuck replied, reaching back into the box. "This is also for you."

This time, Sarah couldn't help but laugh. "You bought me a gun. Because I don't already have enough."

"On the contrary," Chuck replied. "This isn't just ANY gun. This is a first run Colt Model 1911 handgun. It rolled off the assembly line one hundred eight years ago today, and if you look at the stamp on the bottom, it was personally approved by John Browning."

Sarah closely examined the gun – and sure enough, there was the John Browning stamp on the bottom of the grip. "My God, Chuck, this thing is practically in mint condition," she said in amazement. "How did you find this?"

Chuck tried to keep a straight face as he said nothing, merely tapping on the side of his head, but he couldn't keep a tiny smirk from appearing. "I may have cheated."

Sarah's face broke into a huge grin. "You used the Intersect to get me my Valentine's Day gift?"

"I did indeed!"

"Yeah, that's cheating."

"And yet, you like it," Chuck replied, his voice getting softer and slightly dangerous. "I bet you REALLY like it, don't you?"

Sarah didn't say anything. She just smiled and nodded. "That's what I thought," Chuck replied, leaning in to kiss her. This kiss wasn't quite as chaste as the one out by the pool. In fact, with this kiss, Chuck pressed Sarah up against the closet door, pressing himself against her. She moaned slightly as he gently tugged her towel off of her, leaving nothing between the two of them but his towel.

"That's gotta go," she whispered in his ear when he broke off the kiss. Reaching down, she whipped the towel off of Chuck's waist, leaving them both naked.

"Agreed," Chuck replied. He kissed Sarah again, and then began to move his kisses downward. Sarah shivered when he kissed the scar on her abdomen – the scar from that night so many years before, the night that General Beckman had come to their house, had threatened to kidnap John and Lisa, the night that Chuck had shot General Beckman –

And suddenly, Sarah's train of thought derailed and crashed in some dark corner of her mind, as Chuck had reached his destination. "Ohhhh…" Sarah moaned, reaching down to entwine her fingers in Chuck's hair –

But just as her eyes fell closed, they snapped back open again. One of the monitors behind Chuck's desk had just snapped on, the CIA seal in the center of the screen, and the words "Teleconference beginning in :09" at the bottom of the screen.

"SHIT!" Sarah shrieked. "Chuck!"

Chuck jumped up at the sound of Sarah's voice, his head whipping around toward his desk. The countdown was now down to six seconds. "Oh, hell!" he yelped. "Hide!"

Sarah and Chuck both dove behind his desk. A few seconds later, they heard the voice of the CIA Director. "_Mr. Bartowski? Agent Walker?_"

Like hesitant groundhogs, the two poked their heads up above the desk to face the monitor. Director Sam Tyler looked back at them, a look of amused tolerance on his face. "_Dare I ask why you're hiding behind your desk, Mr. Bartowski?_"

"Uh… sir… we're both naked," Chuck replied, his face turning bright red.

"_Is that so,_" Tyler replied, the smile on his face betraying the laughter he was holding back. "_Well, I suppose you are a married couple on Valentine's Day. The US government won't begrudge you that._"

"Thank you, sir," Chuck muttered.

"_Anyway, the reason I'm calling is to offer you both a job_," Tyler continued.

Chuck frowned. "A job, sir?" he replied. "Uh, neither of us is really involved with operations at SCCS anymore."

Tyler shook his head. "_Not SCCS, Mr. Bartowski_," he replied. "_This would be a straight CIA job._"

Chuck's head whipped around to look at Sarah, who looked back at him, a thoughtful look on her face. "What sort of job, Director?" she asked.

Tyler's face broke into a full grin. "_Oh, I do think you'll enjoy it greatly_," he replied. "_Mr. Bartowski, Agent Walker, I would like for the two of you to take over the CIA's Sparrow School in Monterey_."

Chuck looked confused. "The Sparrow School?" he asked. "What's the Sparrow School?"

But Sarah knew. A smile slowly crept onto her face. "Let me ask you this, Director – would either of us have to be, uh, _intimately_ involved with the day-to-day?"

Now Sam Tyler did start to laugh. He looked down at his desk to compose himself, and then looked back up. "_No, Agent Walker. You're just there to administer and, if you and your husband feel up to it, uh… demonstrate._"

Sarah grinned. "Well… we'll need to talk about it, but… can I give you a tentative yes?"

"_Absolutely_," Director Tyler replied. "_I look forward to hearing back from you._"

As the teleconference ended, Chuck looked over at Sarah. "Okay… what?"

"Chuck, dear," Sarah replied, "how would you feel about the two of us working someplace that's going to basically put both of us in the mood to have lots and lots of sex every night?"

Chuck's eyes widened – and then he jumped to his feet. "When do we leave?"


	2. John Casey, HouseSitter

_Author's note: Well, thanks to all of you who have reviewed so far. It seems like there is widespread happiness over the return of the Bright Side AU, despite the fact that for this AU, only Season 1 is canon, and despite the fact that there hasn't been a new multi-chapter story in this AU since last August._

_For those of you who have asked, I'm going to attempt to make this as much of a bridge between _Chuck vs. the Ring of Fire_ and _Chuck vs. the Intersect_ as is possible. Lisa Bartowski will meet her future first officer, Rick Milliken, for the first time; John Bartowski and Rebecca Casey are going to start to become friends, even though, as John will tell you, Becca's a "stinky girl"; we will meet the USS _Montana_ for the first time; and we will learn how Fulcrum rose from the grave and Bryce Larkin entered into their dark, dark fold._

_And of course, along the way, we'll see familiar faces, both old and new – Carina Hansen will return, and Jill Roberts – who has, to this point, only made a couple of cameo appearances in the Bright Side AU, and with the wrong last name – will show up at some point. We'll also meet Roan Montgomery and Tyler Martin, Cole Barker will show up – though not as a drunk leprechaun this time (see _Chuck vs. One Obnoxious Leprechaun _for his previous appearance in the Bright Side AU), and we'll learn something shocking about a former member of Fulcrum._

_Needless to say, since this story is about Chuck and Sarah taking command of the CIA's academy for seduction and infiltration of enemy personnel, there's gonna be plenty of hot Charah action along the way. Never fear._

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_**Tales from the Sparrow School**_

**John Casey, House-Sitter**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Sarah Walker Bartowski – Yvonne Strahovski  
Colonel John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Maya McCarthy Casey – Christina Hendricks  
Mackenzie Montgomery – Molly Quinn  
Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette

* * *

**3:35 PM, Pacific Standard Time  
Thursday, February 14****th****, 2019  
4230 St. Clair Ave., Studio City, CA**

Chuck Bartowski lay on his back, a dazed but happy look on his face as he stared at the ceiling. Sarah Walker lay cuddled against him, her head rested on his shoulder. A comforter and absolutely nothing else covered the two.

"So…" Chuck finally muttered. "Let me get this straight. This 'sparrow school' is in one of the best parts of California, and it would involve the two of us overseeing a program whereby potential CIA deep covers are taught how to get in the pants of their marks?"

Sarah grinned. "Seduction and infiltration of enemy personnel is the technical terminology, but you get the idea," she replied, a hint of a laugh in her voice.

"Right," Chuck mused. "And we – you and I – would be responsible for judging each agent on his or her skill, from the initiation of the seduction right up through the… well…"

Chuck pushed himself up on his elbows. "Wait a second. That essentially amounts to watching live porn."

Sarah shrugged. "Basically. That's why we have each other to come home to."

Chuck nodded. "Right," he replied. "Uh… we're not expected to participate in any of these activities, are we?"

Sarah smiled and shook her head. "No, dear, we're not. We'll make that very clear at the outset, that we're both off-limits for seductions." Then her smile took on a wicked undertone. "Of course, we may have to demonstrate…"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Demonstrate WHAT, exactly?!"

Sarah changed her smile to one of mock innocence. "Why… you know, Mr. Bartowski…"

"I really don't, Agent Walker. I think you should explain to me –"

And with that, a door slammed, and the sound of a van pulling away echoed to the Bartowskis' bedroom. "Oh, hell," Chuck said, realization dawning. "The kids are home."

Sarah frowned. "It's already 3:30?!"

"So it would seem," Chuck replied, rolling out of bed and struggling to pull on a pair of jeans.

"_Mommy, the kitchen floor's wet!_"

Chuck looked over at Sarah, an amused look on his face at their youngest child's declaration. "I am SO not explaining to Alex why the floor is wet," he informed her.

Sarah made a face as she got dressed. "Chickenshit," she muttered. "Mommy and Daddy fell in the pool."

"_Mommy, the dryer's done!_"

"And we put our clothes in the dryer, right," Chuck replied. "Of course, then John and Lisa will start in on how we were both then naked. Then they'll all freak out, because they think that anything that even remotely resembles what we would call the birds and the bees is all sorts of disgusting."

"And to think," Sarah shot back, "we might be going off to run the CIA's sex school."

"_Hey, kids, where're your Mom and Dad?_"

Chuck looked at Sarah, wide-eyed. "What the FUCK is Casey doing here?!"

"_Becca!_"

Sarah sighed. "Becca and Alex had a play date this afternoon. I completely spaced on it." Then her head fell, as she looked at the floor. "And I was supposed to go out with Maya for happy hour."

Chuck looked at his wife in horror. "But… it's Valentine's Day!"

Sarah looked back up, a mischievous look on her face. "Gotcha."

Chuck narrowed his eyes at Sarah. "You're incorrigible."

"Oh, but you like it," she replied, stepping up close to Chuck. With only his t-shirt and the thin polo shirt she was wearing between them…

"Uh… oh… um…" Chuck stammered, trying to find the words. "If I may… uh… bra?"

Sarah looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. "Never thought I'd hear that come out of your mouth."

"Yeah, well, you're wearing a paper thin shirt," Chuck replied, struggling to keep himself under control. "If you don't put on a bra, I might end up jumping you in the middle of the living room."

Sarah stepped away and shrugged. "And that would be so bad because…"

"Because our three children, John Casey, and his daughter are all outside that door?"

"Nothing Casey hasn't seen before," Sarah replied cheekily. "Or have you forgotten about the surveillance cameras in your old apartment?"

"Oh, GOD," Chuck groaned. "Not funny! Not funny!"

Sarah shook her head. "And yet… you're gonna be doing the same thing –"

"Okay, first of all, I haven't said 'yes' yet," Chuck replied. "And you know what else? Who's gonna take care of the house while we're gone? And what about the kids? We can't just uproot them in the middle of the semester and move them to Monterey."

Sarah smiled. "Well… provided he agrees to not install surveillance cameras… I think the answer lies right outside our door."

Chuck frowned. "What, Casey?"

"Sure, why not?" Sarah replied. "This is going to be a long-term assignment for us if we take it. The Caseys can live here while we're away, and I'm sure that John and Maya wouldn't mind watching our three until the end of the semester."

Chuck sighed. "Sarah, my dear, sweet, and somewhat naïve wife, what makes you think we won't come back to Casey having taught John and Lisa how to shoot?"

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Would that be a bad thing?"

Chuck threw his hands up in despair. "I'm not going to win this one, am I?"

Sarah smiled and moved back over to where Chuck was standing. "I'll find some way to make it up to you," she breathed, pressing her body against his.

As always, when Sarah did that, it provoked an almost animal reaction from Chuck. A wordless half-growl made its way out of his throat, as he allowed his hands to roam freely. He had Sarah's shirt pulled halfway up her back and had managed to get her jeans unfastened when a knock sounded at the door.

Without even looking away from Sarah, Chuck bent down, grabbed a shoe, and heaved it at the door, pausing to plant a series of gentle kisses on Sarah's stomach as he headed back northward. "_Dammit, Bartowski!_"

"Shit," Chuck muttered, backing away from Sarah with a sigh of resignation. Sarah straightened out her shirt and pulled her jeans back to her hips, zipping them up as Chuck turned toward the door. Chuck reached toward the doorknob, plastering the most evil look he could muster on his face as he did so. Grabbing the doorknob, he wrenched the door open.

John Casey looked through the doorway at Chuck, a highly amused smile on his face. "I swear to God, the two of you are worse than teenagers," Casey quipped.

Chuck gave Casey a baleful look and nodded. "Says the man who got a warning from the LAPD for doing the humpty dance with his wife in the back of his Crown Vic in MacArthur Park."

Casey's eyes widened. "What… how the hell?!"

"I didn't know about that, Casey," Sarah interjected, an amused note in her voice. "When did this happen?"

"About three months after Becca was born," Chuck replied, tapping the side of his head. "Can't hide anything from me, big guy."

Casey sighed, tension visibly building in his neck. "Bartowski… I hate you. I hate you, and that damn computer in your head."

Chuck shrugged and grinned. "And yet, if not for me and that damn computer in my head, you never would've met Maya, and you wouldn't have Becca."

Casey rolled his eyes and turned to Sarah. "Walker, tell your husband that if he wants to ever be able to get all teenager-like with you again, he needs to can the logic."

Sarah smiled and shook her head. "Chuck, Casey says shut up if you want to keep your balls."

Chuck frowned and turned to Sarah. "I heard what Casey said, and that was not what Casey said."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "Be that as it may… I would sort of like you to keep your balls. They're fun to pl-"

"SHUT UP," Casey interrupted loudly. "Just SHUT THE F-"

"_DON'T YOU DARE!_"

The voice of Maya McCarthy Casey cut through the Bartowskis' house like a knife through butter. "Ohhhh!" Chuck teased Casey, doing his best first-grader impression. "Somebody got in trouble!"

Casey turned back to Chuck, eyes narrowed. "So help me Bartowski," he muttered under his breath, "if you don't shut your trap, I am going to handcuff you to a bed, and then track down Carina Hansen and let her have her way with you."

"No you very well will not," Sarah growled, brushing past Casey and out into the living room. "Chuck gave me a new gun for Valentine's Day, and I'm just itching to use it."

As Chuck followed Sarah out into the living room, Casey grabbed him by the shoulder. "YOU, of all people, got Walker a new gun?" he asked incredulously. "What did you get her?"

Chuck grinned. "A first run 1911," he replied. "John Browning's approval stamp and everything."

Casey nodded. "Nice, Bartowski. I'm actually impressed."

"Yeah, just wait till I pull up a Bradley for your birthday," Chuck shot back.

"Wait – a what?!"

* * *

**4:00 PM  
Palm Springs, California**

"I really don't understand why I have to go with you, Dad," Mackenzie Montgomery complained as she threw clothes into a suitcase. "I'm fine staying here in Palm Springs."

"No, you most certainly are not," CIA Agent Roan Montgomery shot back at his daughter. "You haven't enrolled at CSU San Bernardino like you said you would, and if you get arrested again, you're going to jail for a very long time."

Mackenzie turned and looked at Roan in disbelief. "So I have to go off to Monterey with you while you pretend to be some sort of aging gigolo?!"

"You watch your mouth, young lady," Roan shot back. "First of all, I will be an INSTRUCTOR, and that is all. Secondly, the mission of the SIEP Academy is VITAL to national security."

Mackenzie rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded distinctly like "national schmecurity," but Roan let it slide. "Now, I don't know this couple that's going to be in charge – the Bartowskis, or something like that – but I will be damned if I make a bad impression."

A snort came from Mackenzie in response. "Come on, Dad, if they're CIA, I guarantee you that they've heard about Roan Montgomery and his reputation. You certainly made sure all my friends knew."

"I hope you don't think I was trying to impress your 'friends', Mackenzie," Roan growled. "I was attempting to dissuade them from having anything to do with you. That was a bad group of kids you got yourself involved with."

"Says you!"

"And two San Bernardino County juvenile court judges!" Roan shouted. "For God's sake, Mackenzie, you broke into George Clooney's vacation home!"

"So?"

"So you're damn lucky that he has a good relationship with multiple CIA officers!" Roan stopped for a moment and took a breath. "You know what? I'm wasting my time. Get your shit in the car. We're leaving in an hour."

Mackenzie sighed and grumpily sat down on her bed as her father walked out of the room. _Ass_, she thought to herself.

She pulled her picture of her mother out of her nightstand. She wasn't supposed to have it – her father had made that very clear when she came to live with him. But she couldn't just get rid of it.

Mackenzie shook her head, and wished, for approximately the millionth time in the last seven years, that her mother was still alive.

* * *

**Studio City**

"Watch your house? Are you fu – uh, freakin' kidding me?!"

"John!" Maya Casey snapped, slapping her husband in the back of the head. "Of course. We'd be happy to take care of the house for you. John spends about a third of his time over here anyway."

"And you're okay with taking care of the kids for the rest of this school year?" Sarah asked, a note of concern in her voice.

Casey growled, but then looked down at his lap, where Lisa Bartowski sat on one knee and Alex Bartowski on the other. "Yeah, I suppose," he replied, his visage softening as his two goddaughters looked up at him with puppy dog eyes.

He looked back up at Chuck and Sarah. "When does Tyler want you out there?"

"First of the month," Chuck replied. "Doesn't give us much time."

Casey snorted. "And here I figured that after the whole Calijo incident, you two would retire permanently."

Sarah's mouth quirked upward. "Come on, Casey, you know us better than that."

"Yeah, yeah, I do," Casey replied. "How could I forget that the two of you are crazy?"


	3. Seduction and Infiltration of Enemy

_**Tales From the Sparrow School**_

**The Seduction and Infiltration of Enemy Personnel**

**CAST (in order of appearance):  
**Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette  
Agent Luther Cartwright – Chris Pine  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Sarah Walker Bartowski – Yvonne Strahovski  
Mary Milliken – Shannon Elizabeth  
Agent Melissa van der Toorn – Katrina Bowden  
Colonel John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Maya McCarthy Casey – Christina Hendricks

* * *

**8:00 AM, Pacific Daylight Time  
Monday, March 4****th****, 2019  
The Sparrow School, Monterey, CA**

"Good morning," Roan Montgomery began, looking out over the new crop – the fresh meat, as it were. He had himself once been part of the crop of fresh meat – _was it REALLY 1969?!_ – and now, he had the chance to train a whole new batch of agents.

"My name is Roan Montgomery. I am an officer of the Central Intelligence Agency, as are all of you. However, unlike all of you, I have fifty years' field experience. I know what it takes to properly seduce a mark, be it female or male. I know that seduction is often one of the most effective methods of retrieving information from the enemy."

He paused. "I also know that generally the seduction itself is enough, and that actual sex is unnecessary. Some agents prefer to only go for the seduction." Roan took off his glasses and grinned. "I feel that if you've put the work into it, why not go for the gold?"

A low ripple of laughter spread across the classroom, even provoking a grin from the rather shapely blonde sitting in the back. _She must be a supervisor_, Roan thought – she looked distinctly older than the rest of the group. The man sitting next to him, who appeared to be her contemporary, did not appear amused by Roan's remark.

_I bet that they're the Bartowskis_, Roan realized. And of course the man wouldn't be amused that his wife had been part of this program at one time, _but you married a CIA agent, pal. Deal with it._

"You have all received a syllabus," Roan continued. "You have also each received a copy of the text – which is crap."

That got several students' attention. "This text was written in 1987," Roan informed them. "The techniques and methods listed within wouldn't have worked in 1988, let alone now. Every last piece of course material will come from myself, and from Agent Milliken, who you will be meeting presently."

He turned to the whiteboard behind him and began writing. "Seduction and Infiltration of Enemy Personnel," he informed the class. "In other words, the art of charming your mark's pants off."

He turned back to the class. "You will be fully trained in the best techniques that Agent Milliken and I can offer you," Roan continued. "You will also be periodically tested in these techniques. Your 'marks' will be members of the staff here at the school. Each member of the staff has volunteered to work here, and each member of the staff understands what they may be asked to undertake."

A young man in the front row raised his hand. "Yes?" Roan said, pointing at him.

The young man had a frown on his face. "So, any member of the school staff is fair game?"

"Well, with the exception of the new administrator and program director, yes," Roan replied. A hint of a smile grew on his face. "Why, is there somebody you've noticed already?"

With a slight blush rising, the young man's frown turned into a bit of a smile. "Well, yeah, sort of," he replied. "There's this really attractive girl – tall, red hair, bright green eyes –"

His words cut off suddenly as Roan slammed a hand down on his desk. "Agent – what's your name?" Roan growled.

The young man's eyes widened. "Uh, Cartwright, sir, Luther Cartwright," he replied.

"Agent Cartwright," Roan hissed. "Understand this. That young woman you just described is my daughter. If you so much as let her face pass across your mind when you're playing with yourself in the shower, then not only will you not pass through this school, but you will depart without the equipment necessary to conduct a proper seduction!"

Cartwright went pale. "Uh, sir, no, sorry, sir, I didn't know, I won't even look at her again."

"See that you don't," Roan shot back.

* * *

"Christ," Chuck muttered under his breath. "This Montgomery guy's a real hardass."

"Yeah, but he's our hardass," Sarah replied. "And remember, he's one of the best. Without him, the Berlin Wall wouldn't have come down."

Chuck turned slightly toward Sarah. "Explain to me again how that happened?"

"A KGB agent by the name of Sasha Banacek was traveling to East Berlin to deliver a message to the _Stasi_, promising them KGB support," Sarah whispered. "Montgomery intercepted her in West Berlin, took her to a bar and got her liquored up, and got her to his hotel room. They were in there so long that by the time they came back out, the Wall was a pile of rubble."

Chuck narrowed his eyes. "Okay, so he bagged a KGB agent and brought down the Berlin Wall. The second, impressive; the first – so?"

Sarah grinned. "Sasha Banacek had the nickname 'The Black Widow'," she explained. "When she wrote her memoirs back in 2007 and described that night, she explained that Roan Montgomery had detained her in a 'prison of pure pleasure'. To do that to as notorious a KGB agent as she was – pretty impressive."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "Understood," he replied, and then waggled BOTH of his eyebrows at Sarah. "So, what would I need to do to go about detaining you in a prison of pure pleasure?"

Sarah giggled – _she giggled?!_ – and pointed behind Chuck. "You could always ask her…"

Chuck's head whipped around – and then his jaw dropped. "Holy shiiiii…"

* * *

As Mary Milliken stepped into the back of the classroom, she allowed herself a moment of quiet. She knew that in less than sixty seconds, every eye in the classroom would be on her – and with good reason. But, for just a moment, she wanted to center herself.

She closed her eyes and imagined her son's face. His school day would just be starting, less than two miles away. Ricky's second grade teacher did NOT know what his mother really did for a living, and she didn't need to. It was bad enough that she knew who his father was – that douchebag asshat of a rock star, Tyler Martin.

_I wish I knew what I had been thinking_, Mary thought with a sigh. But she knew what she had been thinking – the same thing she had thought throughout the first thirty-five years of her life. Sex, sex, and more sex.

"Let me introduce Agent Mary Milliken," she heard Roan Montgomery say. She didn't know Montgomery personally – she knew of him only by reputation. However, if she was going to be team-teaching with him for the next three months – at least – then she was sure that was going to change.

Every eye in the room turned to look at her – and just as she had expected, numerous jaws fell open. She could swear that a few of the men in the room's tongues even slipped out of their mouths – _not bad for a forty-five year-old_, she thought, suppressing a smile.

Of course, it didn't really surprise her. Ever since Sarah Palin had run for vice-president over a decade earlier, the whole idea of the "MILF" had taken on new meaning.

Mary put that thought out of her head as she reached the front of the classroom. "Good morning," she greeted the class. "As Agent Montgomery said, my name is Mary Milliken, but I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that at least a few of you know me by a different name."

A young blonde woman raised her hand. "Yes?" Mary asked.

"You're… you're that porn star, Kiara Minxx," she said nervously.

Mary smiled. "I used to be," she replied. "And might I say, well done on enunciating the second 'X' in the name."

The blonde laughed. "Anyway," Mary continued, "yes, I used to be one of the highest-grossing adult film stars in the industry. What's your name, dear?"

"Melissa," the young woman replied. "Melissa van der Toorn."

"I take it you have at least a passing familiarity with my work?" Mary asked her.

Agent van der Toorn shrugged. "I suppose you could say that," she replied. "I, uh, I guess I sort of used _Deep Throat 2000_ as a, uh, instructional manual when I was in high school."

Mary's eyebrows practically skyrocketed off of her forehead. "REALLY," she replied, trying desperately to suppress the laugh that was threatening to come flying out. That turned out to be a lost cause when –

"HOLY SHIT, THAT WAS YOU?!" the older-looking man in the back row burst out. With that, Mary's laugh slipped out, as she looked back at the man in the back. He looked to be in his late thirties, and if the look on the face of the woman next to him was any indicator, that was his wife, which would make them –

_The Bartowskis_, Mary realized. _My new bosses_.

* * *

Sarah's head slowly swiveled toward Chuck, and she pinned him with a glare that might as well have been a blast from the Death Star. _Uh-oh_, Chuck thought, realizing what he had just spoken aloud.

"So… _Deep Throat 2000_, Chuck?" Sarah hissed.

"Uh… um, that was, um, Morgan really liked that film. Kiara Minxx, uh, she was his, uh, favorite –"

"She most certainly was not," Sarah interrupted him. "That would be Irena DeMova, Chuck."

Chuck turned to match Sarah's gaze. "Why in the hell would you remember that?!"

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Eidetic memory, Chuck," she shot back. "You know that. Now… explain."

Chuck sighed. "Can I just for the moment say 'Bryce Larkin' and explain fully later?"

Sarah cocked her head to the side. "Yeah, that doesn't really help your case much, but I guess you can fill me in later."

Chuck grinned. "Oh, I'll do that alright."

* * *

**2:30 PM, PDT  
Studio City, California**

"Atten-HUT!"

John Casey's harsh voice sounded through the living room. In front of him, John, Lisa, and Alex Bartowski, as well as his own daughter – Becca – all snapped to attention.

"You all are WEAKLINGS!" he barked. "You would never survive in my beloved Corps! When I am done with you, you will be fierce! You will strike the fear of God into any other kid in this neighborhood! You will be worthy to call yourself MARINES!"

"Oh for God's sake," Maya groaned from the next room. "You're in the Air Force, John!"

"Ignore her," John instructed his new recruits. "When I give you an order, you will say, 'YES, COLONEL CASEY, SIR! Is that understood?!"

"Yes, Colonel Casey, sir!" three little voices responded – but one said, "Daddy?"

_Dammit_, John thought. He should've left Becca out of this. "Yes, Rebecca?" he asked, trying to keep an edge to his voice as he looked down at his daughter.

"Why do we have to do this?"

"Uh…"

"Daddy, we just want to go outside and play," Becca said, looking up at her father with her big brown eyes – _goddammit, just like Bartowski used to do_, Casey groaned mentally.

He sighed. "Alright, fine," he replied. "But don't blame me when the kids from down the street take your lunch money."

"They don't take lunch money to school, dear," Maya sighed.

The three girls all filed outside, excitedly discussing some teenage Disney tramp or other. _They all sort of blurred together after Hillary Duff_, Casey thought. Then he realized that John Bartowski wasn't following his sisters outside.

"Not going to join the skirts, Bartowski?" Casey asked, crouching down to John's eye level.

John shrugged. "They're stinky girls," he informed his namesake. "Besides, they don't want to play what I want to play."

Casey raised an eyebrow. "And what do you want to play, Bartowski?"

"I want to learn how to be an agent," John replied. "Just like Mommy and like you, Uncle John."

Casey felt a grin slowly make its way across his face. "Is that so," he muttered. "Well, Bartowski, you're talkin' to the right man."

He stood. "Come with me, John," he said to the eight year-old boy. "We'll get you all agentized."

As the boy followed Casey out of the room, Maya Casey shook her head. "I'll be a widow soon," she muttered. "Sarah Walker's gonna kill him."


	4. Interlude

Howdy folks.

Okay, so as of today - August 11th, 2009 - it's been a little while since I wrote anything. Here's why.

Over the course of this summer, I took twelve credit hours online from Northern Arizona University. I pulled three A's and a B, which as you can probably imagine, took up a WHOLE LOT of time. During that time, I also spent a week out of town, as a camp counselor. Then, a week ago today, my classes finally ended.

Two days after my summer classes finally came to an end, the senior GM of the hotels I work for was fired, thus adding to my workload. Then, the day after that, my mom had a psychotic breakdown. Now, my mom's fine, and she's going back home today, but still, my life is sort of overloaded right now.

I feel bad about this, because I know where I want to take _Chuck vs. the Con_, and _Chuck vs. the Past_ Reboot, and _In the Valley of the Shadow_, and _Tales from the Sparrow School_. However, I just don't have the time or ability to do much writing right now.

Thanks everybody for reading, and for your support.

The Notorious JMG


	5. The War of Sparrow Aggression

_**Tales from the Sparrow School**_

_**Author's note:**__ I'm back, yo! The last little bit of my life has been difficult, but it appears that everything has cleared up for now, allowing me to get back to writing! Now, you'll see that I introduce a couple of new characters – one that is completely new, and one that is very, very familiar to the _Chuck-_verse. Now, in case you're curious, I am modeling Colonel Jackson on Ian McShane's character of Al Swearengen from the HBO series _Deadwood_, even putting McShane himself in the role – because, really, who else could play it?  
That said… enjoy!_

**The War of Sparrow Aggression**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Col. Thomas Reginald Jackson (USA, ret.) – Ian McShane  
Vincent Torvalds – Arnold Vosloo  
Col. Jefferson Davis McCoy (USA) – Stephen Moyer  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Sarah Walker Bartowski – Yvonne Strahovski  
Mackenzie Montgomery – Molly Quinn  
Sam Tyler – John Simm

* * *

**8:45 AM, Eastern Daylight Time  
Wednesday, March 6****th****, 2019  
Oak Ridge Country Club, Spartanburg, South Carolina**

_THWACK_.

The tiny white sphere flew away from the tee at a frightening rate of speed – but even as the man wielding the driver watched, the ball began to fade to the left. "Fuck," he uttered simply – an utterance that didn't draw even the slightest reaction from his personal assistant.

Vincent Torvalds had been Colonel Thomas Reginald Jackson's personal assistant for nearly twenty years, dating back to their initial involvement in Fulcrum. Torvalds had been working for the GSA at the time, and Jackson had been a Major assigned to the Pentagon.

Both had chosen to bail on Fulcrum back in 2012, following the disastrous and ill-advised ECOMCON plot to overthrow the President, rather than waiting until a year later, when the idiot Maximillian Calijo had managed to flay Fulcrum wide open for its destruction. That did not mean that Colonel Jackson – "Stonewall Junior" to his friends – had turned away from his path of malarkey and mayhem. Oh, no.

These days, Colonel Jackson – now retired – was an international arms dealer. His base of operations was in Savannah, but his personal offices were in Myrtle Beach. An amateur golf aficionado, he tried to play at least two different courses in South Carolina each week, never playing the same course twice in a year. Thus, on this particular morning, they were in Spartanburg, with Jackson warming up on the driving range while waiting for his golfing partner to arrive.

It rankled Vincent a little bit to caddy for Jackson, but he did owe the retired Colonel a great deal – for example, it had been Jackson who had arranged for that asshat Ted Roark to find himself dead one day after Vincent had massively botched a Fulcrum job in Los Angeles. Fulcrum had sent Vincent to L.A. back in 2009, with Roark ordering him to retrieve the human Intersect. Instead, Vincent had accidentally kidnapped a kid who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and who just happened to look a whole hell of a lot like the description he'd been given of…

What was his name? Murkowski? Bartleski? Whatever. Anyway, when Roark found out that he had accidentally tortured and killed a rookie for his beloved Los Angeles Dodgers instead of the Intersect, he went through the roof and sent a dozen men after Vincent. That was when Vincent had pleaded with Colonel Jackson for help, and the next day, Roark's Bentley decided to explode itself all over Ventura Boulevard.

And so now, Vincent was in South Carolina, basically acting as Jackson's lackey for the rest of his days. Not that it was a bad job – usually no more than fifty hours a week, sixty grand a year, a house, and a car were his pay – but it was still lame sometimes. Like right now. Vincent didn't golf, but this was where Jackson wanted to meet his contact.

"It's not that bad, sir," Vincent lied, wincing as the golf ball began to cut drastically away.

"Horseshit it's not that bad," Jackson shot back. "My drive has sucked lately. I need you to find me a new driver that doesn't make me look like a rank goddamn amateur."

Vincent very carefully suppressed a snort. _Good luck with that,_ he thought, his eyes narrowing as they fell upon a man in an Army uniform making his way toward them.

"Colonel Jackson!" the man called out, his Louisiana accent grating on Vincent's ears as always. Colonel Jefferson goddamn Davis McCoy. His name alone was enough to piss Vincent off. What kind of inbred, redneck bastards would name their kid after the one and only President of the Confederacy?

_Oh, right_, Vincent thought, remembering once again that he now lived and worked in the South. And to be sure, McCoy was no more of a redneck or a racist than Jackson, but Jackson was more of a traditional Southern gentleman, whereas McCoy was just a goddamn prick. That, and Vincent pretty much owed Jackson his life.

"Jefferson, my boy!" Jackson called, turning toward McCoy. "And what good tidings have you brought me this morning?"

McCoy grinned – and it was a nasty, mean looking grin, too. "Well, Colonel, I have some news that I thought that both you and Mr. Torvalds might be interested in."

That statement put Vincent immediately on edge. He normally didn't care what Jackson did or didn't do, so why would McCoy care if Vincent was interested?

Clearly, it made Jackson suspicious as well. "Oh, really," he replied, his voice losing all emotion. "Unless it's that shipment of iPatriots you told me would be intercepted, then I don't know that either of us will be interested."

"I see," McCoy replied. "So then, neither of you would be interested in hearing about the future of a little group known as… Fulcrum?"

Moving incredibly fast for his age, Jackson spun on his heel and slammed McCoy against the back wall of the booth he was in. By the time McCoy reached the wall, Vincent had his gun out, the muzzle against McCoy's forehead.

"Exactly what the FUCK do you know about Fulcrum?" Jackson growled, pressing his forearm against McCoy's throat. The Army colonel's eyes bulged, his face beginning to turn purple.

"I know… I know you two were part of it a decade ago," he gasped, trying to breathe and not having much success. "I also know… I know that there are a few of us who would like… like to see it revived."

Jackson's eyes narrowed to slits. "Is that a fucking fact," he replied. "And a few of us would be you and who else, you conniving son of a bitch?"

"Two lieutenant commanders in the submarine service and a Marine Corps general," McCoy croaked, his face now an unhealthy eggplant-like shade.

"Well, zip-a-dee-fucking-do-dah," Jackson snapped. "Doesn't sound like you've got any of the old senior leadersh-"

"Lou DeBlasio."

And with that, Jackson's arm came off of McCoy's throat. McCoy stepped forward, coughing as he grasped at his bruised trachea. "Lou fucking DeBlasio, huh?" Jackson asked. "And here I figured that old cocksucker was dead."

* * *

**7:00 AM, Pacific Daylight Time  
The Sparrow School, Monterey, CA**

Chuck Bartowski was still in the dog house.

After unintentionally spilling to Sarah that Bryce had introduced him to pornstar Kiara Minxx via a video called _Deep Throat 2000_ back during their freshman year at Stanford, he had proceeded to – rather than simply tell the truth – dig himself a six foot deep hole trying to lie and explain his way out of the situation.

That had all come to an end when Sarah had pulled out her phone, called Bryce, and gotten confirmation that he had, in fact, introduced Chuck to the video. That had gotten Bryce a bit of a tongue-lashing, but it was nothing compared to the utter misery that Chuck had gone through for the last thirty-six hours.

Sarah had decided that she was going to torture Chuck to an extent that he was pretty sure she was violating all the laws of human decency. Several times in the last day and a half, she had gotten him worked up to the point where he thought he was going to pop, and then backed down, smiling sweetly and saying, "Chuck, why don't you just give yourself a hand?"

It was pure evil, but it was working. Chuck was just about ready to apologize for everything he had ever done, and had decided that he would also confess to kidnapping the Lindbergh baby and shooting down TWA Flight 800 if it would help his cause.

It had gotten worse that morning – Sarah had found it necessary to awaken him in a particular wonderful fashion, and then be particularly cruel by stopping halfway through. And so, nursing one of the worst cases of blue balls known to man, Chuck had shuffled out into the California sunrise that morning, a thin jacket protecting him against the marine layer just beginning to lift off of Monterey.

Mornings like this were beginning to make Chuck feel old. He would wake up with twinges in both his knees and pain in his back. He was going gray around the edges of his hair, and he was afraid he was going to need glasses sooner rather than later.

_And that girl doesn't help either_, he thought, absent-mindedly watching a girl who looked to be about nineteen jogging down the path toward him. Jogging was a long since abandoned concept for Chuck – his right knee was screwed up to the point where his workouts had to be on a bike. Fortunately, he could still do that with relatively little pain.

Chuck shook his head. Worse yet was the fact that the oldest of his two girls wasn't that far from being a teenager herself. _Oh, get a grip, Chuck_, he thought to himself. _She's only eight!_

Nonetheless, a phrase that Chuck remembered his dad saying to Ellie many, many years ago, back when she first started dating, crossed his mind – _When you have a son, you only have to worry about one dick. When you have a daughter, you have to worry about all of them._ And Chuck had TWO daughters.

A shout of pain brought Chuck back to reality. About fifty feet ahead of him, the girl he had seen jogging had fallen to the path, her ankle twisted beneath her. "Oh, crap," Chuck muttered. He started jogging as quickly as he could toward the girl, reaching up to push the button on his Bluetooth earpiece as he went. "Call admin office," he instructed his phone.

"_Admin office_," he heard a moment later.

"This is Chuck Bartowski," he replied. "There's an agent down with a twisted ankle out on the jogging path on the south side of the school. I need a medic or something out here to take a look."

"_We'll get somebody out there right away, Mr. Bartowski._"

"I'm actually not an agent," he heard the girl say as he reached her.

Chuck frowned. "Oh, my apologies," he replied. "Although, I do have to ask who you are – civilians aren't allowed on the campus without an escort."

The girl winced in pain. "I'm Mackenzie Montgomery," she said. "My dad's an instructor here – Roan Montgomery."

"Ah," Chuck sighed. "Gotcha. And you're living here on campus with him?"

Mackenzie snorted. "Are you kidding? He won't let me out of his sight. I'm surprised he hasn't put a tracking anklet on me – I know for a fact he's installed a tracking app on my iPhone." She peered up at Chuck. "So you're Chuck Bartowski, huh?" Chuck nodded. "You like running a whore school?"

A frown crossed Chuck's face. "Um, that's sort of over-simplifying what goes on here," he replied. "And my wife went through this program too, sixteen years ago."

"So?" Mackenzie asked with a shrug. "Tell me, Mr. Bartowski. Do you or do you not train your field agents in the art of the seduction and infiltration of enemy personnel here?"

"Well, yes –"

"And are they not trained to use sex to get whatever they want?"

"That's not the primary mission of the academy, but –"

"Whore school."

Chuck shook his head and sighed. "Alright. I'm not gonna argue with you."

A smile appeared on Mackenzie's face. "Good, 'cause you'd lose."

"You really are a strong-willed young woman, aren't you?" Chuck asked, a note of incredulity entering his voice.

"It's useful sometimes," Mackenzie replied. "Gives me the opportunity to figure out whatever I need to. Like you, for example. My dad told me the names of his bosses before we got here. And let's see… Charles Irving Bartowski, born September 26th, 1980, graduated from Beverly Hills High School as salutatorian in 1999, attended Stanford until getting kicked out in early 2003, worked as a nobody at a Buy More for the next four years, somehow got involved with the government just after your twenty-seventh birthday, married former CIA super-agent Sarah Walker in 2009, and were instrumental in preventing a coup against the President of the United States in 2012."

Chuck's jaw hung open as he looked at her. "Also, you've got tendinitis in your left knee, arthritis in your right, you've got a compressed disk someplace in your back, and if I had to guess from looking at your eyes, I'd say that your vision is about 20-85."

"How – what the shit?!"

Mackenzie grinned and shrugged. "All the stuff about you is available on the Internet if you know where to look. The medical stuff – I gathered that from looking at you. I'm an observant person."

"Uh-huh," Chuck replied, as a golf cart rolled up on the path. "You gathered all that just from observing me walking up?"

"You bet I did," Mackenzie snarked as the medic helped her onto the golf cart. "But that's the way it goes with me – I scored off the charts with subliminal imaging tests in junior high. I see everything."

_I see everything_. Those words stuck in Chuck's brain like a hot poker. "It was nice to meet you, Chuckles!" Mackenzie called as the golf cart drove away.

He waved weakly. "Yeah, you too."

Chuck stood on the path for a moment, pondering his next move – and then, acquiring a sense of purpose for the day, turned and began to stride back toward his and Sarah's quarters. Reaching up, he pushed the button on his Bluetooth again. "Call Sam Tyler."

The Director answered a moment later. "_Tyler_."

"Sam, this is Chuck Bartowski," Chuck said. "Listen, I need a clearance check on Mackenzie Montgomery."

There was silence on the other end for a moment. Finally, Tyler came back with, "_Agent Montgomery's daughter?_"

"That's the one," Chuck replied. "I think we might have a candidate for the Intersect Project."


	6. Black Holes and Revelations

_**Tales from the Sparrow School**_

**Black Holes and Revelations**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
Roan Montgomery – John Larroquette  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez  
Bryce Larkin – Matthew Bomer  
Mackenzie Montgomery – Molly Quinn  
Maya McCarthy Casey – Christina Hendricks  
Sarah Walker Bartowski – Yvonne Strahovski  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin

* * *

**7:45 AM, Pacific Daylight Time  
Wednesday, March 6****th****, 2019  
The Sparrow School, Monterey, California**

Roan Montgomery had just finished his second cup of coffee for the morning, and was feeling awake and ready to go. He was just about to head out the door for his first class of the morning when the phone rang.

Unlike most CIA agents, Roan still had a REAL phone. Sure, he had a cell phone that rang on the same number, but when he moved to Monterey, he had insisted on a real, honest to God, beat somebody's head in with it wall-mounted PHONE, and not just any phone – no, goddammit, he had a ROTARY phone on the wall! And when it rang, you could hear it in OREGON!

Or, at least, that's what Roan liked to think.

He grabbed the handset off its cradle before the phone could ring a third time. "Montgomery," he said.

"_Agent Montgomery, this is Chuck Bartowski_," he heard on the other end of the phone.

"Director!" Roan said. "Good to hear from you, sir. I'm sorry we haven't had a chance to sit down and talk properly yet… it's just been busy for me, starting up classes, getting myself and my daughter settled in…"

"_Actually, your daughter's why I'm calling. She sprained her ankle while she was out on a jog this morning, and I was the first one there… she's at the clinic right now._"

As soon as Chuck Bartowski had said that Roan's daughter was why he was calling, Roan's heart had momentarily skipped a beat… but it was just a sprained ankle. "She's alright otherwise?"

"_Yes, she's fine… but she'd like you to come over. And, when she's done with you, there's something I'd like to talk to you about as well._"

* * *

**Studio City Consulting Services  
Studio City, California**

Morgan Grimes had just finished his second cup of coffee for the morning, but still felt like a big bag of ass. Even though he was pushing forty, he was still staying up until all hours of the night playing video games on Xbox Live – and he was still kicking ass and taking names, too. The only people he had trouble with were Chuck, Casey, and Bryce, but he wrote that off to them actually doing the shooting and blowing shit up thing for a living –

"And I beat them more often than not anyway," Morgan often consoled himself after a loss.

The front door chimed, and Morgan winced at the noise. Even without alcohol, he always felt like he had a hangover after the long nights of Modern Warfare IV, and this morning was no different.

"Morning, Morgan!" Bryce Larkin said, far too cheerfully, as he passed through the lobby.

Morgan grunted something back in return that could've been anywhere between "Good morning, Bryce," and "Go fuck yourself, Bryce." Morgan wasn't even really sure which it was, but he was certain Bryce would get his drift.

And then the phone rang. Even on its softest setting, the warbling still threatened to split Morgan's skull in two. He glared balefully at the phone, but it just kept warbling.

"Goddammit," Morgan grumbled, reaching for the handset. "Good morning, and thank you for calling Studio City Consulting Services. This is Morgan Grimes; how may I direct your call?"

"_I need somebody killed._"

Morgan's brain froze. He hadn't gotten a call like that in a LONG time – like, since before SCCS had taken down the Firestone Slayers. "Uh… uh… please hold."

Reaching out faster than he thought he could move, Morgan punched the hold button, then hit *799 to activate the building-wide intercom. "Uh, Bryce, I have somebody on hold who needs somebody killed!"

A moment later, Morgan's phone warbled again. The display said it was Bryce calling. "This is Morgan."

"_Morgan, the next time you get a call like that, could you please not announce it over the P.A.?_"

"Sorry, Bryce, it's just been such a long time…"

Bryce sighed on the other end. "_I know, Morgan. Just go ahead and transfer him up to me, okay?_"

"You got it."

* * *

**Monterey**

Roan Montgomery strode purposefully through the small clinic, looking for his daughter. Finally, when he had reached literally the last door in the building, he discovered her, watching…

"Fox and Friends?" he asked, disdainfully. "Really?"

Mackenzie shrugged. "My other choices were Good Morning America and the Today Show," she replied. "At least this is entertaining, in a weird sort of way."

Roan shook his head. "I guess it could be worse. You could be watching _Sesame Street_."

Mackenzie looked over at her father with a look of shock on her face. "What's wrong with _Sesame Street_?!"

"It's for kids!"

"Whatever, Dad," Mackenzie grumped, returning her attention to the TV. "I'd watch it, if I knew what channel PBS was on."

Roan had tuned out after she said "Dad". _Whatever happened to "Daddy"?_ he thought. Oh well, she was nineteen. It was bound to happen eventually.

"Agent Montgomery?" he heard behind him.

Roan turned around – and, yep, there he was, the guy who got in so much trouble with his wife over the whole _Deep Throat 2000_ thing that it wasn't funny – it was hilarious. "You must be Director Bartowski," Roan replied, cracking a smile.

"I am indeed," Chuck verified, extending his hand. "Is something funny?"

Roan's smile got bigger. "Just your wife's reaction to the fact that you watched porn in college."

* * *

**Studio City**

"This is Bryce Larkin. How can I be of assistance?"

"_Mr. Larkin, my name is Vincent Torvalds. I represent a certain group of American interests who would like to hire your firm._"

"Okay… what are you looking for us to do?"

"_There is an individual we need assassinated._"

Bryce raised an eyebrow. "I gathered that much. Can you elaborate?"

"_Before I do so, I need to know if your firm can carry out the mission._"

"That depends on the circumstances," Bryce replied with a frown. "Circumstances which I need to know up front, otherwise it's a flat 'no'."

"_Very well, Mr. Larkin. We wish for the Chancellor of the Ugandan Parliament to find himself in a shallow grave._"

Okay. Bryce was pretty sure he could get behind that one. "Shouldn't be a problem," Bryce replied. "Now, may I ask what company you represent?"

Bryce expected to hear one of two companies – Universal Exports or Langley Shipping, the code names for M:I-6 and the CIA, respectively. But when Vincent spoke, he named a company Bryce had never heard of before.

"_I represent Kääntyä Dynamic_," the man replied. "_We are a technology firm with a number of dealings with the Defense Department, and lately, the Chancellor has become somewhat troublesome for us._"

That gave Bryce pause. Ordinarily, he would not take on this sort of contract for an independent firm, but… if they were a subcontractor for DoD, and they wanted to take out one of the world's REAL douchebags, then…

"We'll need to meet to discuss specifics and sign a contract."

* * *

Chuck looked across the table at Roan Montgomery. Even though the agent was three decades Chuck's senior, Chuck was still pretty certain that the older man could kick his ass if the occasion were warranted.

"So, what can I do for you, Director?"

"First of all, you can call me Chuck," Chuck replied. "I hate titles. I don't even like to be called Mr. Bartowski."

Roan smiled faintly. "Fair enough, Chuck. What can I do for you?"

Chuck looked at Roan for a moment. "Did your daughter ever take the ASVAB?"

"Of course," Roan replied with a shrug. "Aptitude for just about everything is off the charts. She scored a 2290 on the SAT, had a 4.1 GPA when she graduated high school, she's got an IQ pushing 160 – it's just that she refuses to apply herself to anything."

"What about her photographic memory?"

Roan laughed. "It's a goddamn nightmare sometimes," he replied. "I dare not say anything that I don't want thrown back in my face in the heat of an argument, because she doesn't forget anything. And it's not just outright declarations, either. I can mutter something under my breath in the middle of a phone conversation a room away from her, and she'll catch it and run it back by me later."

"Uh-huh," Chuck said, nodding. "Uh, Agent Montgomery –"

"Please, if you're Chuck, then I'm Roan."

"Alright, Roan. Look, I think I may know of a program which would not only utilize all of your daughter's skills, but I think it would also be something she'd be legitimately willing to be involved in."

Roan frowned. "A CIA program? Because, I haven't heard of anything like that."

"Yeaaah," Chuck drawled uncomfortably, "it's sort of beyond top secret. Actually, it kind of doesn't exist – it's just me."

"What?" Roan gave Chuck a strange look. "What kind of program is this?" Then a dark cloud descended over his face. "If it's a program that has one iota to do with this school –"

"No, no, no!" Chuck said hurriedly. "No, nothing at all to do with the Sparrow School." He paused for a moment. "Do you remember a DoD project called Omaha?"

Roan looked at the ceiling, thinking. "Yeah, something about subliminal imagery storage and pattern recognition using a human brain." He returned his attention to Chuck. "I thought it never panned out."

"Let's just say, it very much did," Chuck replied. "And as the ad hoc director of the project, I think your daughter would be a perfect candidate."

* * *

**La Casa Bartowski  
Studio City**

The phone in the Bartowskis' kitchen rang as Maya McCarthy Casey sat at the kitchen table, drinking her second cup of coffee. Reaching out, she snagged the cordless handset, and hit the talk button.

"Bartowski residence."

"_Maya! It's Sarah._"

"Sarah! How's Monterey?"

"_Oh, it's beautiful up here,_" Sarah Walker gushed. "_I am so glad that Chuck agreed to this assignment. You really should come up and visit._"

"Well, Spring Break's in a couple weeks, and the girls will be out of school – oh, speaking of the girls, guess who just ran into the kitchen?"

Maya covered the mouthpiece of the phone and looked down at Lisa Bartowski. "Would you like to speak to your mom?"

Lisa nodded excitedly, then reached up for the phone. "Hi, Mommy!" she exclaimed.

"_Hi, Lisa!_" Sarah replied. "_How's school?_"

"School's good, Mommy. Timmy Barnett tried to kiss me the other day."

"_And what did you do?_"

"I punched him in his boy parts, Mommy."

On the other end, Sarah Walker started laughing. "_That's my girl. Is your brother there too?_"

"No, Johnny's off with Uncle Casey somewhere."

Sarah was silent for a very long moment. "_Uh, Lisa, can I talk to Aunt Maya again?_"

* * *

**The Salton Sea**

"Alright, John," Colonel John Casey proclaimed. "The weapon you hold in your hands is a twenty-two caliber pistol. Large enough to disable, small enough that the kickback is minimal. Your objective is to shoot that five-gallon water jug off the fencepost."

Aiming carefully, the eight year old boy lined up the sights of the pistol, and carefully pulled the trigger. A gunshot sounded, and even though the kickback was still enough to make his hands jerk up and to the right, the bullet flew true and knocked the water jug down.

"Well DONE, my boy!" Casey exclaimed. "Let me get that set up –"

Casey was cut off by his cell phone ringing. "Hold on a second. John, put the gun on the ground and don't touch it again until I tell you to, okay?"

"Okay, Uncle Casey!"

With a grin, Casey turned away from his surrogate nephew and answered his phone. "This is Casey."

Sarah Walker's voice nearly shattered his eardrum. "_I WILL RIP YOUR SPINE OUT WITH MY BARE HANDS!_"

* * *

**Monterey**

Roan Montgomery was quiet for a moment. "So you think my daughter has the capacity for this whole subliminal imagery retention and recognition thing?"

"I'm pretty sure of it," Chuck replied. "She told me herself that she's good at recognizing patterns in subliminal images."

Roan frowned. "Still, I'm not sure," he said. "I mean, her mother was in government service, and things happened, and I'm not sure I want Mackenzie to go down the same path Diane did."

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "What happened?"

"Wellll…" Roan paused. "I can't really talk too much about it, because of national security issues… suffice it to say, Diane got involved with a very risky government program, and she actually ended up getting killed because of it."

Chuck's heart sank. "Oh, I am so sorry," he said. "I apologize, I didn't mean to open up old wounds."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Montgomery replied. "It was something she shouldn't have been involved with in the first place… she was actually on civilian territory when she got shot. Something about breaking and entering."

And with that, something clicked in Chuck's brain. Perhaps it was what Montgomery said, perhaps it was Mackenzie's looks, but –

_RING._

Chuck looked down at his phone in surprise. It sounded angry somehow. Pulling it off his belt, he saw Sarah's name on the display. "Hmmm."

He looked back at Montgomery. "Uh, Roan, I have to take this call, but can you tell me something about Mackenzie's mother?"

"About Diane?" Roan shrugged. "I'll tell you what I can."

Chuck almost didn't want to ask the question, but he knew he had to. "What was Diane's name? Her full name?"

"Oh, that's easy," Roan replied. "Her full name was Diane Louisa Beckman."


	7. John Casey's PPPPoker Face

_**Tales from the Sparrow School**_

_Author's note: This might possibly be the most ridiculous non-crack chapter I've ever written. Bonus points for those of you who identify the motorcycle gang and the Bartowskis' next-door neighbor. Also, yes, some of you will notice that in this chapter, I introduce a character who came from one of my OTHER AUs. Enjoy!_

**John Casey's P-P-P-Poker Face**

**CAST (in order of appearance):**  
John Casey – Adam Baldwin  
Sarah Walker Bartowski – Yvonne Strahovski  
Chuck Bartowski – Zachary Levi  
Maya McCarthy Casey – Christina Hendricks  
Morgan Grimes – Joshua Gomez

* * *

**9:15 AM, Pacific Daylight Time  
Wednesday, March 6****th****, 2019  
California Highway 111, about fifty miles south of Coachella, California**

"COME ON!" Colonel John Casey roared at his young protégé. The Crown Vic was in sight – a black monolith of 1980's American automotive might, rising from the sands on the shore of the Salton Sea.

"Uncle John, I've been running for ten minutes!" John Bartowski complained. "I'm only eight years old!"

Casey stopped in his tracks and turned around. "We're in a hostile situation here, John! We've got to keep moving! The Crown Vic's RIGHT THERE!"

John gave his godfather the most pitiful look – and then did something that made John Casey prouder than anything he had ever seen before. The eight year old's eyes took on a gleam reminiscent of one that Casey had often seen in his mother's eyes, he stood up taller, and straightened his shoulders. "Yes, sir!" he bellowed in his most commanding voice – which, given that he was only eight, was still pretty high.

Nonetheless, the eight year old moved out, and had it been a day when Casey's old football injury was bothering him, John Bartowski probably would've beaten the man he was named after to the car. However, Casey was feeling good that day, and reached the Crown Vic in just enough time to unlock it for little John to climb in.

"Buckle up and HOLD ON!" Casey roared, firing up the Crown Vic's thirty-five year old 351 cubic inch Windsor V8 engine. Never mind that it was manufactured in Canada, it was the heart of an American car, goddammit!

Sand spun from underneath the Crown Vic's rear tires as the former California Highway Patrol car shot forward and onto the highway. "Alright, our mission here is to beat your mother back to Studio City and fortify our defensive position," Casey informed his namesake. "If we can do that, we may be able to convince her of the value of these training sessions."

John Bartowski looked at the dashboard and frowned. Biting his lower lip the same way his father did when thinking, he pondered Casey's statement for a moment, and then turned to face the NSA agent. "Uncle John," he said, "in our current position, we're more than one hundred twenty-five miles closer to the house than Mommy is. Given that, we should have more than enough time to conduct our operations."

Casey couldn't help it. Throwing his head back, he roared with laughter at what sounded distinctly like the voice of Chuck Bartowski coming out of his son's mouth. "That is an EXCELLENT analysis, young man," he told John, shaking with laughter. "However, there are a few factors you haven't considered."

John raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"

"First of all," Casey replied, "we're currently on a non-divided, two-lane highway. The bulk of your mother's drive will be on Interstate 5. Secondly, your mother drives a Porsche 911, and as fast as this old girl is, she will never be able to run with a 911." He paused for a moment, wondering whether the next statement would get him in even further trouble. _Ah, what the hell_, Casey decided. "Third, and finally, your mother develops a condition that we in the Air Force like to call 'batshit crazy' when she gets onto an open stretch of blacktop."

A moment of silence passed, as John Bartowski processed this information. Finally, he looked up at Casey, and very matter-of-factly said, "We're completely screwed."

* * *

**10:10 AM  
Los Banos, California**

It was a beautiful March morning – the perfect day for a motorcycle ride. And on this particular day, a northern California motorcycle gang was headed down Interstate 5, bound for a patch-over party in Bakersfield.

To look at this gang of motorcycle riders was to look at a group of men with whom you would never, ever want to mess. In fact, one glance at the logo on their cuts – that of the Grim Reaper holding an M-16 – told most of the general public everything they needed to know about these men.

That was why, even though they had their riders spread out across all three of the southbound lanes on I-5, not a single motorist or trucker dared antagonize them. Of course, it helped that the pack of motorcyclists was traveling at just a hair over 80 miles per hour.

And so, it came as something of a surprise to the leader of the group when he heard a horn blaring behind him. Looking in his mirror, he saw a black Porsche approaching him from behind – and FAST. "Fuck off, bitch," he muttered at the slightly insane looking blonde driving the car. Lifting his left hand, he gave her the universal salute of the state of California.

However, unlike most people, this woman didn't seem to be fazed in the least by the morbid logo, the motorcycle, or the finger. Rather, she narrowed her eyes, held her left hand out the window of her car – and a second later, a .45 caliber slug blew the mirror off of the leader's bike.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" he roared, bringing the bike skidding to a stop in the middle of the freeway. Around him, fifteen other Harley-Davidson, Yamaha, Honda, and BMW bikes followed suit, their riders drawing guns and preparing for battle.

Before he could even get his helmet off, however, the driver of the Porsche was out of her car, advancing on him very quickly, her Colt M1911 up and pointed directly at his – no, not his head – oh, SHIT –

"Your nuts are next!" she roared. "Get your GODDAMN BIKE out of my way!"

The leader raised an eyebrow. Oh, this had just gotten amusing. "I'm sorry," he replied, "my what?"

And what happened next came as a shock. Instead of becoming more antagonized, the blonde instead put her hands on her hips, blew out an exasperated sigh, and rolled her eyes. "My apologies," she drawled sarcastically. "Get your GODDAMN 2008 HARLEY DAVIDSON FXD DYNA CUSTOM out of my way!"

So shocked was the leader by the fact that the blonde woman in the tailored black business suit knew exactly what his bike was that he could think of no response but, "Okay…"

Still stunned, he wheeled his Harley out of the way. The woman got back into her Porsche, brought the engine roaring to life, and took off down the freeway, leaving black streaks on the road and a cloud of smoke as the only evidence she had been there.

One of the other riders looked over at the leader. "Holy shit, boyo," he said, his Scottish accent more pronounced than usual. "I don't know what to say other than… that was REALLY hot!"

* * *

**10:30 AM  
Monterey, California**

Carrie Rozelle had a smile on her face as she brought the old UH-1W Huey helicopter in for a landing on the Academy's helipad. She hadn't seen her half-sister in several years, and so she was looking forward to surprising her.

However, as she flared to land, much to her consternation, an old Dodge Magnum station wagon came sliding onto the helipad. It stopped a perfectly safe distance away from the descending Bell aircraft, but that kind of pad incursion was never, ever a good idea.

As she watched, a tall, skinny man with curly brown hair climbed out of the Dodge and ran toward the helicopter. Wrenching open the door, he climbed into the co-pilot's seat. "You got enough fuel to get to Los Angeles?"

Carrie looked at the man in confusion. "I have enough fuel to get to Ensenada if I so desire," she replied, "but I'm landing here."

"The hell you are," he shot back. "Get this bird in the air. I have to get to the Valley before my wife does."

Carrie shook her head. "Forget it. I'm here to see my sister, and I'm not going anywhere else."

The man sighed and looked at the ceiling. "I'm sorry," he said. "That was rude. I'm Chuck Bartowski, the director of the Academy, and I would really appreciate it if you could get me to Studio City as quickly as possible. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"Your wife?" Carrie asked, confused. "Why do you need a Huey to get to Los Angeles before your wife?"

Chuck smiled wryly. "Because she's driving a Porsche 911 and, according to my security people, she's been gone for nearly an hour."

"Ohhh," Carrie said. "Okay." Then she narrowed her eyes. "You'll make it up to me? How?"

Chuck shrugged. "You said you were here to visit your sister," he replied. "I'll make sure she has a few days off from training."

Carrie snorted with laughter. "Training? Oh, my sister's not a student here. My sister's barely old enough to legally have sex."

"Huh?" Now Chuck was confused. "Who's your sister?"

"Mackenzie Montgomery," Carrie replied. "She's the daughter of –

"Of Roan Montgomery, of course," Chuck interrupted. "I know exactly who she is. I think she's actually going to be starting in a side program I might be running for the CIA."

Carrie's eyes widened. "This side program better not have anything to do with your Academy, or you can get the hell out of my helicopter RIGHT now."

"No, no!" Chuck assured her. "Of course not! I don't even necessarily like the mission of this Academy. No, this is something different." He frowned. "But Roan never mentioned having an older daughter."

Carrie's eyes widened. "I'm only 35!" she shot back, offense in her voice.

"Christ," Chuck muttered. "Can I do anything right today?"

"And I'm not Roan Montgomery's daughter," Carrie went on. "My name's Carrie Rozelle. I'm the daughter of a pair of traitors, to put it mildly."

Chuck buried his face in his hands. "Jesus, not another daughter of the woman I shot and killed," he moaned.

"She had it coming," Carrie replied tightly, without even the slightest sign of shock that Chuck Bartowski had been responsible for Diane Beckman's death.

Chuck slowly looked up at Carrie, his eyes widening even further. "Wow… no love lost there?"

"I never liked Diane Beckman, or that Iran-Contra piece of shit who fathered me," Carrie said bitterly. "I spent my childhood living with my grandparents. In fact, as far as I'm concerned, the only good thing that Diane Beckman ever gave this world was Mackenzie."

"Right," Chuck replied in disbelief. "Look, I would love to talk about this with you further, but seriously – if I don't get to Los Angeles before my wife does, there's an NSA agent who is going to have his nuts in a jar."

"NSA, huh?" Carrie asked. "Well, if he's anything like Diane Beckm-"

"John Casey is NOTHING like General Beckman," Chuck snapped, suddenly feeling defensive. "He's a good man!"

"Well, why didn't you say so in the first place?" Carrie's voice still had a sarcastic tone, but she nonetheless pulled back on the collective, lifting the old Huey off the pad. "Monterey Tower, this is River-One, requesting emergency takeoff."

"_River-One, didn't you just land?_"

"That's affirmative, but I have suddenly found myself in the middle of a national security situation."

"_Roger that, River-One. You are cleared for takeoff._"

Chuck raised an eyebrow. "A national security situation?"

"A necessary embellishment," Carrie replied with a shrug. "Now let's go stop your wife from castrating this John Casey."

* * *

**12:45 PM  
Studio City, California**

Lawrence Michaels stood in his front yard, smoking a fat cigar. Life was good. This house in Studio City – it was a far cry from his old days of doing drywall at McDonald's franchises in Texas.

As he puffed on the no-longer-illegal Cuban tobacco, Lawrence heard the distinctive noise of a stressed Ford V-8 engine approaching from the north. "Christ," Lawrence muttered. "Will John Casey never learn how to do the speed limit?"

It did not seem that this would be the day that Casey would learn the speed limit, as his Crown Vic did a powerslide in the middle of St. Clair Avenue, and then rocketed into the Bartowskis' driveway, stopping just inches from the garage door. "GO GO GO GO GO!" Casey roared as both he and John Bartowski bailed out of the old Ford.

"Howdy, Casey!" Lawrence called.

"Lawrence," Casey grunted as he swept John into the house, where he found his wife, his daughter, and the two Bartowski girls sitting on the couch – a grin the size of the _Queen Mary_ on his wife's face.

"Oh, you've done it this time, John," she said in amusement.

"Maya, you've gotta help us out," Casey begged his wife. "Walker's gonna come charging through that door any minute. You have to stall her somehow."

Maya snorted with laughter. "Why in God's name would I do that? This is going to be HILARIOUS."

"Aunt Maya, Uncle John's afraid that Mommy's going to rip his balls off with her bare hands," John Bartowski interjected, a deadly serious look on his face.

"John Casey!" Maya snapped, the look of amusement on her face turning to one of disbelief. "What have I told you about vulgarity in front of the kids?"

Casey's face had now taken on a look of desperation. "Maya…"

"We want to play Uncle John's game, Aunt Maya!" Lisa piped up, causing sheer relief to sweep across John Casey.

Maya rolled her eyes and turned away from her husband. "And how do you propose we do that?"

As if they had planned it, the three girls all shouted in unison. "DANCE PARTY!"

* * *

**12:50 PM**

As Sarah Walker Bartowski sped down St. Clair Avenue, two things became immediately obvious to her – one, her asshole neighbor, Lawrence, was standing outside, smoking a goddamn cigar, and two, John Casey's Crown Vic was in her driveway. "Dammit," she muttered. Not only had Casey beaten her here, but with the garage blocked, she was likely going to be subjected to one of Lawrence's lascivious remarks before she got into the house.

"Bite the bullet, Walker," she told herself as she brought the Porsche to a stop by the curb. Steeling herself, she opened the door and stepped out, making tracks for the front door as quickly as she could and trying to ignore the leer that Lawrence was casting her way.

"Looking good, Mrs. Bartowski!" he called, making Sarah's skin crawl just a little bit – but only for a second. What was that noise?

It sounded familiar. It was some kind of thumping – a rhythmic thumping coming from the house. "The hell?"

Pulling open the front door, Sarah was met with an almost physical wall of music.

"CAN'T READ MY, CAN'T READ MY, NO HE CAN'T READ MY POKER FACE!"

Sarah looked at her daughters and Becca Casey in disbelief. The three girls were thrashing about as if they were having seizures, while Maya McCarthy Casey observed them with a look of sheer amusement on her face.

Before Sarah could say anything, her daughters noticed her. "MOMMY!" Lisa and Alex both shouted, running toward her. "COME DANCE WITH US!" Each girl grabbed a hand and dragged Sarah to the middle of the living room.

"P-P-P-POKER FACE!"

* * *

**12:52 PM**

"_River-One, this is Van Nuys Tower. We cannot clear you to land at Studio City Consulting Services._"

Chuck looked at Carrie Rozelle in disbelief. "What the hell?"

He toggled his microphone. "Van Nuys Tower, this is River-One. That's MY landing pad. Why can't I land there?"

"_River-One, the landing pad at Studio City Consulting Services is currently occupied by a helicopter registered to __Kääntyä Dynamic,_" the invisible controller replied. "_The closest we can give you is immediate landing at the Balboa Army National Guard airfield._"

"Crap," Chuck muttered. "That's fine," he told Carrie.

"Van Nuys Tower, this is River-One," Carrie said. "We'll take that landing site."

As Carrie turned the Huey away from Studio City and headed across the 405, Chuck pulled out his cell phone to call the front office at SCCS. A moment later, the phone was answered.

"_Studio City Consulting Services, this is Morgan, how may I direct your call?_"

"Morgan, who the HELL is Kääntyä Dynamic, and why are they occupying my helipad?"

"_Chuck!_" Morgan exclaimed. "_Dude, how do you know about that?_"

"Morgan, I AM still the CEO of the company."

"_Right, right,_" Morgan replied. "_Uh, they're a potential client, meeting with Bryce right now._"

Chuck sighed. Couldn't very well ask a client to move off the helipad, now could he? "Alright, Morgan, listen," he said. "I'm going to be landing at the Balboa Army National Guard airfield in about five minutes. I need you to get there as fast as you can, and pick me up."

"_You got it… pick up Chuck!_"

Chuck just shook his head.

* * *

**1:08 PM**

In spite of herself, Sarah was actually enjoying dancing around the living room with her daughters and her goddaughter. Sure, the thought of doing permanent damage to John Casey was still present in her mind, but she had been overtaken by the sheer fun of acting completely ridiculous.

Lady Gaga had given way to George Michael, and then to Outkast. And just as Sarah was doing her best to shake it like a Polaroid picture, her tactical mind snapped back into operation.

There was John Casey, doing his best to sneak out the back door.

"Son of a bitch!" Sarah yelped, grabbing her purse and running out of the living room, leaving Andre 3000's howls of "Hey, ya!" in her wake. Reaching into the purse, she withdrew not her Colt, but…

* * *

John Casey was almost free and clear. He had spent the last twenty minutes holed up in the Nerd Cave with John Bartowski, and in spite of himself, had gotten extraordinarily nervous when Sarah Walker Bartowski arrived home. Then, the music started up, and a few minutes later, Casey had heard one of the most welcome sounds of his life – Walker laughing with nothing more than joy.

After nearly twenty minutes of the girls' impromptu dance party, Casey had decided that he might be safe to make a break for it. "Alright, Bartowski, you stay here," he instructed John. "Your mother won't take this out on you – it's my ass she wants."

As Casey crawled out from behind the makeshift fortress of couch and cushions that he and John Bartowski had erected, he turned and saluted the younger man. "It's been a pleasure, John."

John stood and saluted back. "Good luck, Uncle John!"

Moving to the back door of the Nerd Cave, Casey slowly eased it open – and was promptly assaulted by the thumping bass of Outkast. "Lord have mercy," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the back door.

As stealthily as possible, he crossed the kitchen, his hand reaching for the doorknob. Just as he was about it to reach it, though, he felt a sharp sting in his neck –

* * *

Chuck Bartowski practically dove out of Morgan's Lexus as it rolled to a stop behind Sarah's Porsche. Completely ignoring Lawrence's greeting, Chuck made a beeline for the front door – only to find it locked. He reached for his keys.

"My goddamn keys are in Monterey," he gasped. "Shit!"

Turning, he ran around Casey's Crown Vic and down the side of the house. Reaching the back door, he reached out for the doorknob, hoping the door was unlocked –

And with an almighty crash, the door flew open, and John Casey fell out onto the stoop, a tranquilizer dart sticking out of his neck. His eyes glassy, Casey looked up at Chuck. "Wecom ho', Bowski," he muttered, and then fell unconscious.

Chuck looked down at Casey, and then up into the kitchen, at the figure of his wife walking toward him, tranquilizer gun in hand, a triumphant look on her face. Before Chuck could say anything, three young girls came running up behind Sarah.

"MOMMY, THAT WAS AWESOME!"

_To be continued…_

* * *

**also starring:**  
Charlie Hunnam as the lead motorcyclist  
Tommy Flanagan as the Scottish motorcyclist  
Summer Glau as Carrie Rozelle  
and Diedrich Bader as Lawrence Michaels


End file.
